Mess
by conchepcion
Summary: Molly starts at St Bart's and wonders who's not tidying after themselves.


Molly Hooper fresh-faced and eager to please was sorting out through the various samples lying haphazardly around. She'd been there about three days, and she felt the most she'd done was cleaning up, besides some post-mortems. None of the others on the staff seemed at all untidy, and none of the students seemed anything but eager to please themselves.

Since she'd only been there three days, she didn't feel like complaining, but it was a hindrance to her work if she'd have to take one person into consideration every time she had a shift. She wanted at least to have someone to blame, so she tried to pay attention.

Everyone else seemed to leave the mess however, getting a bit shifty-eyed, when she asked about it, and she even heard someone muttering "that git," under their breath. It wasn't long before she found herself summoned by her boss Mike who'd pursed his lips, and gestured for her to have a seat. She half-expected to get shouted out for wanting things to be kept in order, but Mike gave to sigh loudly.

"I've heard you've been asking about the mess."

"Oh – you know about it then?"

"Everyone knows about it, I suppose you haven't met him yet?"

"We've got one untidy worker, then?" she laughed.

"No – he – err – he doesn't actually work here. His brother has given him allowances to do so, and there's not much we can do. Of course we've tried sorting it out, but it hasn't actually worked – so we sort of just silently clean up after him. It would be far more messy if we didn't let him do as he wants."

"What?" she said surprised, "Why's he allowed?"

"He's a consulting detective to the Scotland yard."

Molly blinked, "Really? That's a job-title?"

"It's one he's given himself to be honest," said Mike with a snort, as he looked at her pleadingly, "He can be a bit – difficult, Doctor Hooper. I'd try my best to be on his good side, though he'll probably not like you anyway. He doesn't like any of the staff here, and barely trusts any of them to do a good job -,"

"You didn't hire me because you need someone to handle him, did you?" she said frowning.

"No, I hired you because of your credentials, you're the perfect woman for the job – and also because our last head pathologist had a mental breakdown."

"Is he to blame, then?"

"Yes, Sherlock Holmes is to be blamed. Well, partly. Andrew didn't know his wife had been cheating on him, and Sherlock was nice enough to tell him on his birthday."

"He slept with the last pathologist's wife?"

Mike let out a long laugh at that, causing Molly to raise her brows, as she waited for him expectantly to give a reply, "No, he's – no – he didn't – he just – when you meet him you'll know. Just be patient – he's not like an any ordinary man."

* * *

Oddly enough after that meeting there was less mess around in the lab, and all the paperwork seemed to be in order, which caused her to be terribly suspicious of whoever Sherlock Holmes was. The fact that she found herself Googling the man wasn't unsurprising, but she'd hoped a photo would go with the man, so she wouldn't find herself entirely startled, when she finally met him. When she started asking round about him - all of the staff pronounced him to be a massive git, repulsive to say the least, and a freak.

Molly oddly enough found she'd like him, just by the fact that he sounded passionate about doing his job, even if it was a self-given title, but he did seem serious about his work. When DI Lestrade, a silver-haired man from Scotland Yard came round warning her that a Sherlock Holmes would be popping round that afternoon she felt prepared, of course he could too exclaim her an "idiot" like the rest.

She wasn't an idiot, she'd come that far on her own, and she was frankly rather good at her job. St Bart's had barely nabbed her to begin with, and it was only with an increase in salary that she'd relented to them, but she was intrigued by that really. She hadn't really expected that, as she was rather young to begin with. She had a few articles out and about, but she was sure no one had read them.

There was just something rather suspicious about it in the whole, but as she finished up a Mrs Brewster autopsy – jotting down her notes – the door to the morgue banged open.

In came a man with dark curled hair, startling blue eyes that surveyed the room, landing promptly on her, as he slipped off his dark suede gloves. His dark coat was impressive, and his collar was turned upwards, as his brows were furrowed, "I thought you would be a man."

"Sorry?" she said surprised, flushing at the sight of him.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said with a grin that felt overwhelmingly false to her, but she still found herself smiling in return.

"Molly Hooper," she said about to give him her hand, only to realise it was still gloved, so she tore the glove off, but he'd already slipped his hands behind his back staring at the deceased Mrs Brewster.

She gaped for a minute, hurriedly shutting her mouth, as he said, "This is Mrs Brewster, then – tell me about her."

"What about her?" she said startled, hurriedly shaking her head over her own silliness.

He was rather imposing.

"I'm not asking about her personal life, Molly."

He didn't call her Doctor Hooper, or even Hooper, but went straight onwards to the use of her first name.

She frowned for a second, sighing, until she said, "It seems like an obvious case of domestic violence, old bruises found on her upper torso," she said flinging the white sheet from the woman's body displaying her in front of him.

Sherlock didn't flinch at that, standing stoically, not giving any comment, as she continued, "Obviously there'd been other instances of these, but those bruises hadn't been obvious. She's been patched up sometimes, seems like it has been done by someone with less trained hands, which hasn't made it grow in the way it should – old stitches coming up – explaining the scaring on her chest, her arms, and her legs. They've tried to cover their tracks, so it had been going on for some time, but this time around the attacker had gone for her face. The fact that it has been kept a secret suggests that it was someone close, most likely her husband."

"Good," he said with a brief nod, "Excellent, that's what I thought. You'll do."

Molly covered up the woman's offending body, and was about to make a reply, but the man was already gone.

"Right," she muttered to no one.

It wasn't before some weeks later she found out that the main reason she'd gotten the job was because of Sherlock Holmes requesting her, but no one had listened to him – so he forced the head out. And it wasn't before two months that she realised she'd fallen for the idiot.

* * *

**A/N:** My edited reply to an anonymous on tumblr, there you go. Also, remember the **SAMFAS** - go to _www - sherlolly - com_ for more information! There you can nominate your favourite fics who are up for the running!


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